


My Truth Is In Denial

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:58:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6861826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well. It was fitting, in its way, but still she found herself worrying over the situation. Varric was not the sort of man to run from much - despite his self-disparaging patter, she knew he would face down nearly anything with a quick line and a few crossbolts. But the look on his face when he had realised…</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Truth Is In Denial

Varric starts it, in the first floor of the inn when it is quiet.

“Seeker, just the woman I wanted to see.”

She rolls her eyes as he approaches, goblets and a bottle of wine in his hands. “What do you want, Varric?”

“Who says I want anything?”

“That bottle says it loud and clear.”

He grins, putting everything down and pouring her a drink. “Maybe.” His hand jerks, just slightly. She frowns.

“What are you -”

“Drink.” He offers her the goblet, and before she can question him again he tips the base back, urging her to drink deep. She splutters, but drinks enough to satisfy him, and he pulls back as she wipes her face.

“What -” She pulls a face. “What did you do?”

“I want the truth.” There is something in his eyes that makes her chest tighten, and she realises. He was, after all, a rogue by trade.

“Deathroot oil? You would use a truth serum? On me?”

“Just enough for a question,” he admits, and she feels her chest burn in anger.

“Why -”

He holds a hand up, looking serious for a moment. “You could have used this on me in Kirkwall. I know the Seeker Order distills it, along with many other tricks of my trade. But you never did. Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

She sighs, dropping her head. “I wanted the truth… but I wanted it in your words, not dragged-out facts.”

“You wanted a story. You wanted my view.”

“Yes.”

“Ah, Cassandra.” He kneels in front of her, smiling kindly. “You romantic.”

“Do not mock me! You -”

“Topped up your drink with water,” he says. “Only water. I would _never_.”

She stares at him. “What sick joke -”

“You _wanted_ to tell me, but you're so damned _proud_ -”

“So you lied? Again? If you had simply asked me -”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Seeker, for all your moral fibre you’re as tight-lipped about the truth as I am -”

She shoves him away, making a noise. “I will not tolerate this anymore! Get out!”

*

Everyone hears about it, and for two weeks she refuses to talk to him - or to anyone else when they ask what happened. But eventually, necessity overrules, and though she feels the eyes of everyone on her, she approaches him at his table in the hall.

“Varric.” “Seeker.”

He is busy, quite obviously so, his half-drunk wine abandoned in favour of the letter he so quickly works on. He does not spare her a glance, though the back of his neck reddens. She doubts she will get a better apology.

“The Inquisitor requires your assistance tonight. The war council meets -”

“I’ll be there.”

She sighs loudly, folding her arms. “Varric, must you always be so annoying?”

He does not look up from his desk. “No, I just do it because your frustration is attractive.”

Cassandra stills. “Excuse me?”

The quill falls from his fingers. “Uh. Forget I said anything.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I do it because your frustration is -” He clamps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

“Varric?”

He pulls back from the desk, shaking his head. “I - I have to go. This is - Maker, this is _mortifying_ -”

“What is wrong?”

“I think someoneputdeathrootoilinmydrink-” The words are let out in a rush as he balks, running for the door, and Cassandra mulls them over in his wake.

Well. It was fitting, in its way, but still she found herself worrying over the situation. Varric was not the sort of man to run from much - despite his self-disparaging patter, she knew he would face down nearly anything with a quick line and a few crossbolts. But the look on his face when he had realised… she could no sooner ignore that cry for help than if he had said the words outright.

Finding him takes longer than she expects, but she does eventually - on the battlements, looking thoroughly miserable.

“Varric?”

“Please go away. I don't want you to see me like this. Well, I do, I _always_ want you to _see_ me, but not -” He bites back his words, sighing heavily. “Please.”

She sits next to him, sighing. “Varric, you are sometimes a liar, but… not always. What have you to fear from the oil?”

“I’m a storyteller. Everything I say, even when it’s true… it’s crafted, formed, and that’s as good as a lie most days.” He swallows hard, audible. “I don’t want to know who I am without my stories.”

“Varric -”

“Besides. You know how this stuff works, Seeker. It's a compulsion. I _have_ to answer, and that answer has to be the truth.”

“I know.”

“And I know what you want to ask, and I'm begging you. Don't.”

She frowns. “Varric, what -”

“Please, Cassandra.” There is a tightness in his throat, a pain she cannot bear, and she takes his hand. “ _Please_ don't ask me.”

She swallows, mind racing. What could he possibly be so anxious about? They had weathered the storm of Hawke, surely there were no other great secrets -

Bianca.

The name almost slips from her lips, so sudden is the realisation. The true story of his crossbow… yes, that had to be it. His most fanciful tale, his most guarded secret. She considers it for a long moment.

“Varric.”

His hand tightens around hers.

“I _must_ ask.”

“Please -”

“Do you regret staying? With the Inquisition?”

His head whips around as he stares at her. The answer comes, has to come. “No.”

She lets out a soft sigh. “Thank the Maker.”

“I'm here because it's the right thing to do. Because it's important to stop the world getting worse before we can make it better.” He swallows. “Because there are people I care for -”

“You do not have to say anything else.” She squeezes his hand. “It is enough. Thank you, Varric.”

He sags against her, closing his eyes. “ _Why?_ ”

“It is the only truth I needed to hear - that you did not remain because I forced your hand."

“You - you were still worried about that?”

“Of course. Coercion is hardly a skill I am proud of.” She rests her chin on his head. “Your secrets remain your own. I will see to it that no-one disturbs you until you are yourself again. Nobody should abuse this state of mind.”

He chuckles. “Of all the things you could have asked, Seeker…”

Her lips twist into a smile. “Should I have asked what happens to the Knight-Captain in the next book? No no,” she adds hurriedly as he opens his mouth, “do not tell me!”

His laugh shakes her, warming in its richness. She is glad to hear it once more.

*

The effects of the potion wear off by morning, and as she passes through the hall she can hear his booming voice regaling the small crowd with a tale of Kirkwall. She allows herself a small smile before giving the matter no more thought, and the day whiles away in a flurry of training and meetings.

In fact, Varric is the last person on her mind when he comes to her room above the armory, hovering at the top of the stairs.

“Hey, Seeker.”

She smiles, hauling herself from the reasonable comfort of the cot. “Varric.”

“Can I come in?”

“People will talk.”

“They always do.”

She beckons him forward, putting down her book. “What brings you to my room at this hour?”

“I wanted to thank you, for how you handled my, ah… problem.” He rubs his neck. “You had every right to screw me over, after my little stunt, but… you didn’t.”

She shrugs, sitting at the desk. “You need not thank me, Varric.”

“Well, I want to.” He leans against the desk, smiling wryly down at her. “Thought I could volunteer a few answers to any questions you might have wanted to ask, seeing as I’m in my right mind.”

Her eyebrows quirk up. “Oh?”

“Yeah. You said you didn’t want to abuse that chance, right? Well… consider this a chance you should abuse. Not literally, I mean, but -”

“Why did you kill off my favourite character?” She blurts out. “In - in Hard in Hightown, you killed off -”

He laughs. “That’s it? That’s the burning question?”

“If you do not mean to say -”

“Oh, no no. I promised an answer.” He shakes his head, smiling. “Because writing an ensemble cast is hard, and her story wasn’t strong enough. It was her or the barkeep, and losing him would have only meant a new barkeep.”

“That is an awful reason!”

“I never said it was _good_.”

She scowls.

“Ask me something else,” he says.

“You are not so unreadable that I cannot simply work things out -”

His fingers catch the underside of her jaw, gently lifting her head up to meet his nervous gaze. “Cassandra. Ask me something else.”

She swallows. “Why… why did you trick me? Why did you want to know the truth about our meeting?”

“Because I had a theory, and I wanted to know if I was right. As it happens, I think I was.”

“What - what was your theory?”

“You liked me - well, the person you thought I was, from reading my books. You wanted to get to know me better, but you had a job to do and that came first. Ended up coming between us for longer than it should have, really.” He smiles, soft and kind. “Ask me something else.”

“Varric -” It is a whisper, barely-contained disbelief.

“Go on. Ask me.”

She ignores him, pulling him forward and crashing his mouth against hers. Varric hesitates for only a moment before meeting her enthusiasm, a tight noise in his throat as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss as his hand slides into her hair. Time slows, Cassandra’s senses filled with him, only him, before he pulls back, eyes wild and questioning.

“Cassandra, I -”

She silences him with another kiss, softer now. “Fool,” she murmurs against his lips, “you have told me all I need to know.”


End file.
